Change
by RandomFanatic
Summary: Steve contemplates how much things have changed. And he contemplates his team mates. Especially one billionaire playboy with a suped up suit of armor. Tony/Steve fluff. Chappie 2 up! Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Change**

**Summary: Steve gets out into the world... and is depressed by all the change. **

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything**

**Inspiration: I was out getting my Chai Tea Latte at my fav espresso stand and I drove by this old abandoned bar and saw this mom walking her kid and it was really cute and I was like, "awww... I gotta write about this." So I did. **

**This is probably going to be two chapters, and it's gonna be a Tony/Steve (but not in this chappie... it's just Steve here ;))**

* * *

><p>It had been a shock.<p>

A shock to hit the freezing arctic water, the cold _burning_ into his body.

A shock when he woke up in a plane, a robot, a god, and a man with a weird ant helmet staring down at him.

A shock when he saw the statue of Bucky and him, the plaque.

And that was just yesterday.

He was now an Avenger. It felt like just two days ago he was going in to defeat the Red Skull, now he was training in the Avengers Mansions, seventy years in the future.

Well, not really _right now_, but, you know.

Tony had advised him to learn the bus schedule (and system) until they could teach him how to drive and get him a license. Today, he decided he'd hit up a local art store and see if they had any good drawing supplies in this oh so advanced future he had here. Wasp had willingly searched up the address of a good art supply store nearby, Tony gave him a ridiculously large amount of cash (which he had felt really bad taking, but Tony insisted, reminding Steve how rich he was and how his money would probably go to waste otherwise) and he'd walked to the store, trying to remember the way.

It had been huge. Aisle after aisle of just art supplies- pottery, painting, sculpting, decorating, quilting, crafts, holiday crafts, decorations, and sketching. It took Steve a while to find the drawing section. He was a bit taken back by the variety of different sketch books he was presented with. He stared at the different sizes and brands and thickness and types of paper combinations he had.

How did people decide these days? He frowned.

Then, he closed his eyes, and reached forward slowly until his finger bumped the textured cover of one of the sketchbooks. He opened his eyes. It was a medium-sized hardbound book with a hundred and ten sheets and an attractive black cover.

Then he moved over to the pencils section.

Why did they need such a large selection? There were the basic sets, the sets with basic plus erasers and special pencil sharpeners, there were basic sets that were slightly different, large sets of twenty pencils, and huge sets with every type of pencil imaginable. One that caught his eye had charcoal and lead sticks and pencils and blending tools, erasers, sharpeners and sand paper. That is, until he looked at the price. Gee, he didn't think he'd ever be able to afford this. He bit his lip when he remembered the lump of cash in his pocket. He pulled it out and counted it.

His eyes grew wider and wider as the number kept going up in his head. Three hundred dollars! All in fifties! He remembered how Tony had insisted he use his money. He hesitantly grabbed the box of drawing supplies and made his way to the register, feeling guilty but excited at the same time.

It was probably the most expensive thing he'd ever bought himself, which is really sad once he thought about it. A box of pencils- his most valuable possession.

He sat at the bus stop. His bag was sitting on his lap, and his looked down at it with happiness he had not had since before he joined the army.

Steve felt as if he recognized the area- he felt like something was missing. Across from him was an abandoned parking lot, rubble and concrete tossed across it like nothing. He tried to remember if he knew what it might've been before, and realized it must've been the drug store his mother's friend had worked at when he was young. He frowned.

A lot of things have changed, he guessed. And suddenly, a wave of depression flowed over him once again, very much like yesterday, when he was talking to the strange flying lady named Wasp (who's real name he learned later to be Jan Van Dyn). He couldn't see how a world that has changed so much needed Captain America. He was a hero of World War II, not some futuristic protector of the Earth. That's Mr. Stark's job.

He stared at his bag again. What was he doing here? He didn't belong in the future. He belonged at the bottom of the ocean, with Bucky. Like he had said to Jan, he's no future man.

The bus rolled to a stop in front of him, and he stepped aboard. He paid the driver and took a seat on the side facing the abandoned parking lot.

There were a lot of people coming onto the bus, so he had a couple of seconds to look out at the parking lot.

He smiled at the scene before him, forgetting his previous state of depression. A young woman, obviously pregnant, walked through the mess, holding hand with her five-year-old daughter, who was wearing a Dora backpack and jumping up and down. The mother smiled down at the girl and laughed along with her. They stopped at the bench by the bus stop across from the one Steve had been at just now.

There was already three people sitting on the bench- a teenage boy wearing a green hoodie, an elderly women wrapped in a maroon scarf, and a man in a suit and sunglasses. When the teenager and the businessman saw the two, they shifted awkwardly. Then the boy smiled and stood, offering his spot to the mother. The elderly woman smiled at the girl, who sat on her mother's lap, and pulled a little candy out of her pocket and gave it to her. The girl smiled and thanked the woman, holding onto it in her stubby little fingers.

Maybe things didn't change all that much in the last seventy years. Little girls still sat on mother's laps and elderly women still carried around candy for children. Men still gave up their seat to women.

Steve couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face and sticking there the entire ride home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Yay! It's done! K, so this has become a fluffy fluff fluff Steve/Tony. I didn't even aim for that to happen, but it did. **

**I, personally, think it's pretty cute. But then again, I have no taste, so whatev. ;) **

**Enjoy**

**And Review**

**But mostly Enjoy. :D**

* * *

><p>Steve's had his new sketchbook for three days, and he's been drawing almost constantly.<p>

Drawing everything he sees.

He likes to draw the strength he sees in Clint. The stubbornness is fun to try to capture. He likes to try to draw him crossing his arms, leaning against the wall, rolling his eyes. Steve sits in the training room, watching him shoot the marks, drawing it.

He likes to draw the mystery he sees in T'Challa. The calculated looks, the measured strides, the perfect, tough posture that is the Black Panther. He likes to draw him without his mask. Steve watches him as he jumps and runs on his hands and feet. Fascinating.

He likes to draw the hero he sees in the Hulk. The way he seems to keep himself in check around the Avengers, no matter how annoying Thor gets. The way he smashes wrong-doers. He likes to draw Hulk after the battle. Steve takes a good look at his fellow Avengers- fellow Hero- after the battles.

He likes to draw the genius he sees in Hank. The scrutinizing glances at different beakers and liquids in his lab. How he seems to be able to understand _everything_ on a molecular level. He likes to draw him in his lab coat. Steve sits in the lab and watches him work.

He likes to draw the youth he sees in Jan. The quick little quips she adds to everything, the way she rolls her eyes at Hank, they way she questions most everything anyone says, the way she smiles. He likes to draw her smiles. Steve talks to her over breakfast, his sketchbook on his lap.

He likes to draw the confidence he sees in Thor. The way he walks, talks, stands, hold his hammer- everything. It's etched into every line of Thor's body, every line of his _life. _I guess being the prince of gods would do that for a person's self esteem. Steve sits and studies Thor every chance he gets, quickly sketching everything into the book as soon as he can.

He likes to draw Tony.

He can't decide what specific thing he likes about Tony, he just… likes Tony. The arrogance, the fear, the self-doubting, the self-confidence, the way he just lives. Lives whenever he can. Tony wasn't going to let anything get in the way of him living. He doesn't care what others think about him. Most of the time, anyway. He can stand up to Fury, he has the guts to put on a suit that he made himself and go fight the evil of the world every single day. He was a real visionary. He had a snappy attitude, he had strength, he was a hero, a genius, he was youthful, and he was confident.

He was Tony Stark. There was no other way to describe him, really. That's all there was to him- Tony Stark, the most complex person Steve had ever met in his life.

Steve sat in front of the computer, drawing it. He had never had anything to draw like this back in the forties, so he saw it as a fun little challenge.

The Avengers Mansion was quiet. Everyone was gone. T'Challa was taking care of Wakanda business, Thor was out with Jane, Jan and Hank had gone to Hank's old lab to pack things up and then go out for dinner, and Tony was at an important charity thing. No one was expected back for a couple hours.

That's why it was such a surprise to hear the door creak open slowly, and slam shut quickly.

"Jarvis, warm up the shower, will you?" Tony's voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

"Will do, sir."

Steve could hear the water running, and was concerned, but it wasn't his business. If something was wrong, Tony was a big boy, and probably wouldn't appreciate Steve forcing his help on him.

That was another thing about Tony. He always seemed to seclude himself, while at the same time, he loved attention. He craved it- Steve could tell.

He continued to try to sketch the computer.

It was a half hour before he was really happy with it. The water was still running. He furrowed his brow, but decided he had better not interfere: this was Tony's business, not his.

It took him five minutes to collect all of his supplies back into the box.

It took him five more minutes to get up to the main level, where the bedrooms were. He was walking by Tony's room, where the sound of the shower was still coming emanating.

It was concerning, but Steve couldn't do anything. He really wanted to, but he felt that Tony wouldn't appreciate his effort.

Over the souns of the water, he thought he heard something.

Something like sniffling. It was too quiet to be sure though. Was it possible that Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, was sitting in the shower crying?

Yet, over the past few… days, years, whatever… Steve had learned that nothing was impossible.

"Tony? Are you okay?" no response.

"Hey Tony! Wanna get out of the shower and watch a movie, or something?" Steve knocked on the door. Still no response. He tried the door knob, but it was locked. "Tony! Open the door!"

There was a ragged breath, he thought, but the water didn't stop falling. He sighed. He was going to have to do this the hard way, then.

He backed up, gave himself a running start, and ran straight into the door. The lock was no match for Captain America.

There were no discarded clothes anywhere, and the sound of falling water filled Steve's senses. He could feel the humidity sticking to his skin, taste the warm fog of it suffocating him. He could definitely tell that Tony was crying.

He grabbed two towels that were conveniently placed on Tony's bed, and knocked on the door to the bathroom. The quiet sniffling stopped for a second, until he couldn't hold it in.

"Tony, I know you're in there. I don't want to have to force this door open, too."

"It's not… it's not locked… Leave…me a- lone," Tony manages between sniffs.

"Let me help you."

"No! I don't want you to-" Steve opened the door to find Tony curled up in the corner of the shower, still clad in his fancy suit. "-See me like this," Tony finished.

Steve turned the water off and looked down at Tony, who was now shivering. He was soaked, and his eyes were red and swollen. His face was contorted into a frown and his eyes were squinted. Whatever had happened at the Charity Thing must've hit him hard.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, concern etched into his voice.

"N-nothing," Tony looked away, unable to keep eye contact with the man at this point, soaked and embarrassed.

It's not like Steve really cared, anyway. Who could care about someone like him?

He was just going to laugh at him- poke fun and ridicule him. Seemed to be the in-thing to do, lately. He huddled himself into a tighter ball on the floor of the shower, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for the ridicule to begin.

He felt Steve bend down over him. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

Suddenly, he felt a coarse fabric against his head, rubbing against his scalp- drying his hair.

"Come on, Tony. Let's get you to bed. Seems like you've had a long day."

Steve stood him up and went about discarding his soaked jacket and shirt, drying every inch of exposed skin as they stood in the shower.

Steve considered doing the same to Tony's bottom half… but thought better of it. He led Tony to his bed, standing him next to it. He told Tony to get out something comfortable to sleep in and to dry himself off the rest of the way and change into it and get into bed. "I'll be right back," he had said. Tony doubted it.

But he did what he was told anyway (well, besides getting into bed. He'd much rather continue sulking).

Steve searched through the cupboards of the kitchen.

"May I help you find something, Master Steve?"

"Um, yes. Would you happen to know where the cocoa powder is? And the kettle?"

"Of course I would, sir. What are you aiming on making?"

"Hot chocolate."

"Let me do that for you, sir."

"Really? Gee, thanks." The microwave sprung to life behind him, and he had no idea what was going on. About a minute later, it beeped. Steve looked at it questioningly.

"Go ahead, sir. You're hot chocolate is ready."

"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis." Steve popped the microwave open and took the hot mug out. As a second thought, he opened another cupboard and grabbed some mini marshmallows. He plopped six of them into the hot beverage, and turned towards the door.

"Anytime, Master Steve," the computer said as Steve exited the kitchen.

Steve knocked before reentering Tony's bedroom. Tony was caught off guard. "Come in!" he squeaked, jumping into his bed and pulling the sheets over him.

"Sit up," Steve told him, staring intently at the mug so as not to spill. Tony complied. Steve handed him the hot chocolate, "Careful, it's hot." Tony nodded, taking it cautiously into his hands.

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Tony shook his head. He was grateful for the hot chocolate, but he'd much rather have been left alone to deal with his personal problems himself.

"Tony, I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"Then you're going to be here a while, huh?" his voice was sore and froggy as a result of almost an hour straight of crying.

"I'm worried about you. I care about you. Now tell me." Steve demanded.

"No." Steve glared. It made Tony wish he could just shrink back into the mattress. Steve got really close to him then, almost nose to nose. Tony tried to stare confidently back up at him, but then his mind decided right then would be a great time to have another mental breakdown. He sniffed, let out a ragged breath, and he was lost again.

His body was wracked with sobs, and he squeezed his eyes shut in denial against the tears that were determined to fall. Strong arms wrapped around him, and he tried to pull away. This was humiliating.

"It's okay. Sh-sh-sh," Steve whispered to him. He knew Steve was trying to comfort him, but that just made him sob harder. He wasn't used to this kind of attention. Steve continued whispering sweet little nothings to him. He felt the bed beside him creak under Steve's weight as he sat beside him on the blanket.

"I-I-"

"It's okay, Tony. Let it out." Tony could feel his face contorting embarrassingly as he cried, so he pressed his face against Steve's arm to hide from the world. Steve placed his hand on the back of his head.

Tony felt like a fool. This guy had only joined the team less than a week ago, and he was making an ass of himself and crying on the guy's shoulder. Steve stroked his finger over his shoulder in slow circles.

He cried until his tear ducts were all dried up, but even after that, he continued to sob, his body heaving dangerously with each one. Steve sat through it all.

"Tony, I'm going to ask you what happened again, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Steve said, patting him on his back. Tony didn't look up to meet his gaze. "Are you going to tell me?"

"No," his voice cracked. He could feel Steve nod 'okay'. Tony was glad that he was so understanding.

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Okay. You should get some rest now. Are you hungry?"

"No." He could feel Steve look at him, concerned. "I'm fine, Cap."

"Call me Steve. You just give a shout and I'll get you something to eat, when you're hungry." He moved to get up. Tony clung to him.

"Why can't you just stay?" Steve blinked at him, where he was still pressing his face against his shoulder. There was a big wet spot on his shirt that was starting to cool. It made him shiver.

"I guess I could…" He leaned back against the headboard again. Tony snuggled against his side.

Steve couldn't help but wonder how he got here. And what happened that upset Tony so much, but that didn't matter as much.

This boy- man- curled up to him was the _son_ of _Howard Stark. _It felt like a week ago that he had Howard design his shield for him. And now Howard's son was grown up, red-eyed and slightly miserable, snuggled against his arm, and Howard was dead and gone. Sharon was dead and gone. Bucky was dead and gone.

Tony shifted against him, his face turning upwards to him. Steve realized that he was sleeping. He smiled, and shifted slightly, to a more comfortable position. He was probably going to be here a while. He smiled.

Maybe, just maybe, change was good.


End file.
